


The 'Poet' They Call Jayne

by RevDorothyL



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RevDorothyL/pseuds/RevDorothyL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>River discovers that Jayne's been holding out on her, with a hidden talent for editing and updating classic poetry (given the right inspiration).  Pre-Rayne, for the most part, set a year or so post-BDM.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Jayne's a Poet, And River Didn't Know It

**Author's Note:**

> **DISCLAIMER:** Joss Whedon _et al_ own _Firefly_ and _Serenity_. I'm just playing with the characters for the sake of fun and making zero profit.
> 
> Chapter One is River 's POV. Massively OOC for Jayne _and_ River, I'm sure, but I couldn't resist! 
> 
> Rating: PG (some glancing references to violence and frank language).

River Tam, genius and psychic assassin, was hard-pressed to explain the sudden fluttering feeling in her stomach -- as though a large number of insects of the order _Lepidoptera_ had suddenly emerged from their cocoons inside her belly and taken flight -- when she lay back upon her bunk and unfolded the torn piece of paper she'd managed to lift from Jayne's back pocket after dinner that night. 

She'd seen a corner of the paper sticking out of the pocket of his cargo pants when he'd been moving some newly arrived crates in the bay earlier that day, and she'd assumed he'd received another letter from his mother. When she asked him about it (knowing that he didn't mind reading his mother's letters aloud to her, so that she could bask in the warm feelings that came with them), he'd practically blushed and said it was nothing: just a scrap of paper he'd found on the floor and was meaning to throw away. Then he'd tucked the paper more securely into his pocket and buttoned the flap over it, all the while thinking the words to _"The Hero of Canton"_ as loud as he could so she was unable to get a Read on him. 

With such blatant encouragement, River's curiosity wouldn't let her rest until she'd seen whatever it was that Jayne so badly wanted to keep from her.

Now, she noted with some initial disappointment that it seemed to be merely a page torn out of one of Simon's books -- a collection of Earth-That-Was poetry which Simon had picked up in a used book store months ago, when he'd been desperate to learn how to talk to Kaylee without insulting her. 

This made no sense to River. Why would Jayne try to conceal from her the fact that he'd (not for the first time) defaced one of Simon's books? Perhaps he was trying to get rid of the evidence of an earlier act of petty vengeance against Simon, now that he and her brother were getting along better?

Turning the page over, she saw that Jayne had apparently written over one of the poems, crossing through some lines and scrawling his own, alternative wording in the margins:

>   
>  **SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY _by ~~Lord George Gordon Byron~~_ Jayne Cobb**
> 
>  
> 
> She walks in beauty, like the night
> 
> ~~Of cloudless climes and starry skies,~~ With flyin’ fists an’ broken glass
> 
> And all that's best of dark and bright
> 
> Meet in her ~~aspect and her eyes~~ ; ~~tight lit’l as-~~ eyes when kickin’ ass.
> 
> Thus ~~mellow'd to that tender light~~ fired up by a rousin’ fight
> 
> ~~Which heaven to gaudy day denies.~~ She shakes her head an’ calls me ‘crass’ 
> 
>  
> 
> One ~~shade the more, one ray the less,~~ shade of crazy more or less
> 
> Had half impair'd the nameless grace
> 
> Which waves in every raven tress
> 
> Or softly lightens o'er her face,
> 
> ~~Where thoughts serenely sweet express,~~ When fixin’ the Cap’n’s latest mess
> 
> ~~How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.~~ ~~And flyin’ the ship in Wash’s place~~ And flyin' the ship through the black of space.
> 
>  
> 
> And on that cheek and o'er the brow
> 
> So soft, ~~so calm, yet eloquent,~~ so smart, an’ so hell-bent
> 
> ~~The smiles that win, the tints that glow,~~ On thinkin’ me a _gorram_ hero now,
> 
> ~~But tell of days in goodness spent,~~ I catch the tears from past torment
> 
> ~~A mind at peace with all below,~~ An' I’d give up everything I know
> 
> ~~A heart whose love is innocent.~~ To have her safe an' innocent.  
> 

Having read Jayne's poetic effort through (and mentally corrected the spelling and punctuation), River found that the butterflies had apparently moved from her stomach to the vicinity of her heart, judging by the strange, rapid beating she felt there.

River suddenly smiled. Jayne had -- knowingly or not -- issued a challenge to her in writing this down and leaving it where even the most inexperienced pick-pocket could easily obtain it. She would have to answer her favorite ape-man's challenge with one of her own.

Deciding that she didn't want to waste the time it would take to tear another page out of Simon's poetry book (and it was unnecessary, anyway, since she could remember every word from every poem she'd ever been forced to read as a child by a succession of clueless but expensive tutors), River reached for her drawing tablet and tore out a fresh piece of paper. 

She began writing. . . 

******


	2. The River Strikes Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Jayne's POV. 
> 
> Again, massively OOC for Jayne _and_ River, I'm sure, but I still can't resist letting these two battle it out on an unusual (for them, at least) literary playground. Please don't sue me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THEOLOGICAL DISCLAIMER: I'm figuring that the same River Tam who wanted to correct the scientific inaccuracies in Shepherd Book's bible wouldn't hesitate to change the text of a famous poem that is generally considered to be about the God of that bible and the whole question of theodicy. If there's any heresy herein, blame it on the brilliant but definitely 'different' brain of River, and not on this poor, procrastinating pastor, who was writing fanfic when she should have been polishing her sermon for the following Sunday.**

Jayne Cobb, heartless mercenary and ruthless 'public relations' specialist for the surviving crew of the infamous ship _Serenity_ , almost felt a nervous tremor in his hands when he unfolded the piece of paper that _someone_ (though he suspected that in this instance 'someone' could be translated as 'moonbrained killer woman who seemed to delight in damaging his calm') had managed to tuck behind Vera on his gun-rack during the night, while he slept within easy reach, so that the paper was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes this morning.

At first, he wondered why the _gorram_ girl had drawn him a picture of a big, mean-looking, orange and black striped cat, but then his sleepy eyes focused on the words printed above the picture, and he swore long and loudly before springing off his bunk like his _pigu_ was on fire. 

Jayne had slept in his clothes last night, having been too tired to do otherwise after helping Mal polish off a bottle of cheap whiskey in the mess (Mal had had another fight with Inara, and Jayne's new, mellower, 'one for all and all for one' attitude since Miranda required that he stay and keep the other man company out of crew loyalty, he told himself -- well, loyalty _and_ masculine solidarity over the crazy-making ways of womenfolk on the ship). He'd only tossed half of his room in search of yesterday's cargo pants before he remembered that he was still wearing them. Under the circumstances, he felt that no one could blame him for being a little off his game this morning.

This time there was a definite (though so tiny as to be imperceptible to anyone with senses less finely honed than Jayne's) trembling to his hand when he reached into the back pocket of his sleep-wrinkled pants and found no trace of the scribbled-over poem that he'd been carrying around for the past two weeks, trying to work up the nerve to throw it away before he did something stupid like let the barely-legal killer-woman/girl see it, let alone her over-protective brother or their wrench-swinging captain.

Jayne's brief (but manly) panic started to recede as he took stock of the fact that the girl had apparently seen the 'poem' that he'd sort of re-written for her in an idle moment (hoping that his frustration with the whole candy-assed poem-writing process would distract him from -- or even cure him of ever again thinking about -- a more physical frustration that had been plaguing him lately) and yet she had let him live. 

So far. 

Knowing her, she might just be inclined to torture him a bit with hope and fear before mercifully cutting his throat. 

Figuring that she might change her mind about letting him continue to draw breath at any moment, and that he should make the most of whatever time he had left, Jayne decided not to waste his last minutes in this 'verse kicking himself for having been stupid enough to teach her to pick pockets a few months back. (In his defense, it had seemed like an innocent enough way to get the girl to repeatedly slip her slender hand into his increasingly tight pants pockets . . . and the look on Simon's face when she'd later demonstrated her newfound thieving ability on him had been _gorram_ priceless!)

If he was doomed anyway, there was no harm in seeing what exactly the girl -- aw, hell, he might as well start calling her 'his girl' at least in his own mind, since that cat was definitely living bag-free now . . . . Anyway, he should find out what _his_ beautiful, homicidal girl had written:

> **THE ~~TYGER~~ TIGER _by ~~William Blake~~_ River Tam**
> 
> ~~Tyger, Tyger~~ **_Panthera tigris,_** burning bright  
>  In the forests of the night,  
>  What ~~immortal hand or eye~~ **mere mortal knife or knee**  
>  Could ~~frame~~ **harm** thy fearful symmetry? 

After carefully sounding out the girl's needlessly complicated writing and long words in that first part, Jayne thought for a minute, trying to figure out what exactly she meant. He'd written _his_ semi-borrowed poem about _her_ , so logically she ought to be writing about _him_.

Was she threatening to take a knife to him (again!), and/or use her knee to finish the work of destroying his manhood that she'd started back in The Maidenhead bar? 

Damnit, she _was_ plannin' to torture him before killin' him -- he'd known it all along! 

On the other hand, could this be some of that 'poetical license' he'd heard about (and had originally thought meant that people in the Core had to get a license for writing poetry, and that was why all the best rhymes only seemed to show up anonymously on public bathroom walls)? 

Maybe it was the girl's moonbrained way of saying she hoped she hadn't permanently spoiled his rugged good looks when she'd carved on his chest that one time, and that he still had a matched pair of working balls after the way she'd squeezed them so hard (and maybe she'd just said 'knee' instead of 'fist' in order to make it rhyme with 'symmetry')?

Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad, after all?

Jayne read on.

> In ~~what distant deeps or skies~~ **my darkness, beset by lies,**  
>  ~~Burnt~~ **Burns** the fire of thine eyes.  
>  ~~On what wings dare he aspire?~~ **And when on winged feet I fight,**  
>  What ~~the hand dare sieze the fire?~~ **hand but yours dare halt my flight?**

He wasn't exactly sure what any of that meant, except that it sounded like she'd maybe taken a fancy to his bright, sizzling hot eyes and didn't mind too much the thought of him layin' a hand on those strong, talented legs of hers.

He could work with that!

> And what ~~shoulder~~ **biceps,** & what **violent** art,  
>  Could **un-** twist the sinews of ~~thy~~ **my** heart?  
>  ~~And when thy heart began to beat,~~ **Who but thyself, with tiger stealth,**  
>  ~~What dread hand? & what dread feet?~~ **Could join me in my dance of death?**

'Stealth' and 'death'?

Jayne snorted. 

Sure, it was nice that she liked his biceps (he worked hard enough on them, and he'd noticed that she seemed to find any excuse to brush up against his arms when sitting next to him at the dinner table). 

But did she think he was too dumb to notice that those two words didn't exactly rhyme? Okay, so maybe he'd fudged a bit on his own poem by tossing in 'know' with 'brow' and 'now' -- but the original version had been much worse, rhyming 'glow' and 'below' with 'brow', so he figured he'd done at least fifty percent better on that particular rhyme than that prissy-sounding Lord Byron fellow. 

And, it seemed, he was at least as good at this rhymin' business as Miss River Tam with all her genius brain and education. 

Jayne smiled, looking forward to seeing if she'd made any other rhyming mistakes that he could later bring to her attention -- assuming that he wasn't dead, of course.

> ~~What the hammer? what the~~ **When I slip the Blue Hands’** chain  
>  ~~In what furnace was thy~~ **And punish those that raped my** brain,  
>  ~~What the anvil? what dread~~ **Any who escape my** grasp  
>  ~~Dare its deadly terrors clasp~~ **Will at your hands breathe their last gasp.**

Jayne's smile grew broader.

 _Now_ she was talking! It sounded like she was promising him that he could watch her back when she hunted down the motherless trash who had been behind that Academy _go-se_. She'd talked to him about that a couple of times since Miranda -- just with him -- and he'd wondered if that meant that she'd be willing to let him get a few licks in when she started raining hell down on some deserving heads. 

He made a mental note to polish up his knives and make sure Vera was in tip-top shape, so that he'd be ready whenever River told him it was time to go on their little side-trip to the exciting world of 'Pay-back'. 

Shiny!

> When ~~the stars threw~~ **our enemies rained** down their spears,  
>  And water'd ~~heaven~~ **_‘Serenity’_** with ~~their~~ **our** tears,  
>  ~~Did he smile his~~ **I know you smiled my bloody** work to see,  
>  ~~Did he~~ **Though they** who made ~~the Lamb make thee~~ **our foes made me.**

Jayne snarled a little at that last bit.

It was true, he'd smiled (on the inside, 'cause at the time it hurt too much to move any part of his outside) when those blast doors had opened and he'd seen the girl standin' there over a pile of Reaver bodies, with blood dripping off of her bladed weapons. 

But he'd have to have a serious (and possibly painful -- and not just for him!) talk with that girl about thinkin' that _she_ was made by the same _hundans_ who'd created the Reavers and had turned the Operative into the soulless child-killer that he was. 

Those bastards had tried to _un_ make her with their torture and their conditioning, and she'd managed to survive and somehow recreate herself enough to take down the monsters they'd set loose, in order to save her family. 

The sooner she stopped thinkin' that she was in any way the creation of her tormenters, the better. 'Cause it weren't true, nohow. 

And he was gonna make sure she remembered that, even if he had to paddle some sense into her . . . assuming she'd let him do that, and not kill him with her brain or nothin' for even thinking about it . . . .

[five minutes later]

. . . Well, he'd been thinking about a little recreational and therapeutic spanking with a certain girl for a few minutes now, and he wasn't dead yet. 

Jayne took that as another encouraging sign, and resumed reading.

> ~~Tyger, Tyger~~ _**Panthera tigris,**_ burning bright  
>  In the forests of the night,  
>  What ~~immortal hand or eye~~ **mere mortal, soon to die,**  
>  Dare ~~frame thy~~ **challenge our** fearful symmetry? 

Jayne didn't even bother to rejoice over the girl's imperfect rhyming of 'die' with 'symmetry' (or worry that somehow she was threatening _him_ with that last line). It sounded to him like the girl was admitting that the two of them made a pair -- that they belonged together -- and she was willing to kill (or at least threaten to kill, in the case of her idiot brother, he supposed) anyone who wanted to stand in their way.

Jayne whooped for joy as he left his quarters, River's poem still clutched in his hand. 

He had himself a crazy-flexible killer woman to find and some serious not-talking to do!

 

*********************

**Author's Note** : I'm assuming that River had at some point seen a capture, at least, of one of the 18th-century published editions of Blake's poem, illustrated by the author himself (see images of the 1794 illustrated plates [here](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:The_Tyger_BM_a_1794.jpg) and [here](http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_Tyger_BM_b_1794.jpg)), and would -- naturally! -- have drawn a more anatomically exact Bengal tiger when she recreated that page from memory for her little surprise gift for Jayne. :)


	3. Epilogue:  "There Once Was a Poet Named Jayne . . ."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jayne and River play while the Captain's away. Established 'Rayne'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, massively OOC for Jayne and River, I'm sure, but I still can't resist letting these two battle it out in yet another pseudo-literary venue. 
> 
> This fic was partly inspired by the many kind reviews I received for the first two chapters on LJ, and partly by a rerun of _‘The Big Bang Theory’_ that I finally saw a couple of nights before writing this in late 2011 (the one where the guys combined several leisure activities into one new game, ‘Secret Agent Laser Obstacle Chess’).
> 
> I own nothing and no-one (especially not Joss Whedon's _'Firefly'_ ), and I make no profit from playing with these characters.

River Tam, psychic assassin and self-proclaimed wielder of the deadliest pen on _’Serenity’_ , bounced lightly on the soles of her feet as she faced her opponent across the currently empty cargo bay. Most of the crew was away for the evening, enjoying shore leave in the unusually safe and welcoming rim-world town that was the site of their latest delivery job, making this the perfect opportunity to have it out once and for all with her arch-nemesis and chief rival on the ship: the Man Called Jayne.

“Are you ready?” River asked, narrowing her eyes as she studied the fighting stance adopted by her much larger foe. Hearing his affirmative grunt, River launched her first attack, throwing a knife directly at Jayne’s head.

As he effortlessly ducked out of the way, Jayne began his recitation, timing his lines of verse to fit in between River’s attempts to hit him with knives, bottles, and occasionally her fists:

>   
> _“There once was a girl from Osiris”_
> 
> [Thwack!]
> 
> _“Who weren’t no bigger than a virus”_
> 
> [Whoosh! Crash!]
> 
> _“Then she went on the run,”_
> 
> [Thump!]
> 
> _“And had lots of fun”_
> 
> [Plonk!]
> 
> _“And if the Cap’n finds out, he’s gonna fire us.”_
> 
> [Thud!]

River sniffed in exaggerated disdain, as they paused for Jayne to catch his breath.

“That was uninspired, and uninspiring,” she critiqued. “Also, I almost caught you with that second bottle. You should lose points for that.”

“Ha!” Jayne retorted, demonstrating his eloquence yet again. “It’s _my_ game, and I told you: ‘almost’ doesn’t count. ‘Close’ only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and housework, little girl -- **not** in Semi-Lethal Dodge Limericks.”

“’Close’ also counts in thermonuclear warfare,” River objected (reasonably, she felt).

“Well, there ain’t no nukes allowed in this game, alright? So now it’s your turn.” Jayne paused and grinned. “Unless you’re ready to admit that I’m the deadliest poet on this here crew?” 

“No! Never!” River protested, silently resolved to make him pay for that oh-so-taunting grin (he knew exactly what it did to her and he was only using it now to distract her, the evil-sexy ape-man!) once they were alone in their bunk later tonight. 

In the meantime, River had a game and a title to win. It was a matter of pride, after all.

“I’m ready!” River called as Jayne warmed up his throwing arm. “Begin!”

> [Twang! Thwick!]
> 
> _“There once was a man they called Jayne”_
> 
> [Clank!]
> 
> _“Who excelled at causing great pain,”_
> 
> [Swish! Smack!]
> 
> _“Which the girl appreciated,”_
> 
> [Thunk!]
> 
> _“When they caught up with those she hated,”_
> 
> [Fwoosh!]
> 
> _“But not when his whiskers clogged the drain!”_
> 
> [Crash!]

**That** would teach him to trim his beard (dashing and devastatingly handsome though his goatee undeniably was) over the sink in their quarters, River thought in triumph, as Jayne looked at her in astonishment, mouth hanging open as though honestly shocked that she’d use that as ammunition!

Jayne’s own eyes narrowed in calculation. _Well, if **that** ’s the way she wants to play it . . . ._ “Oh, it’s **on** now, killer-gal. No quarter?”

River grinned back at him, exhilarated by both the game and the growly tone in his voice, promising even more interesting retribution later on. “No quarter,” she confirmed, happily.

* * * *

**_The End_ **


End file.
